


Listen to the River

by ysse_writes



Category: Mushishi
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:28:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ysse_writes/pseuds/ysse_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginko comes to a village riddled by a mysterious disease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen to the River

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/gifts).



_They say you can always tell a mushishi by the pack he or she carries. Some carry small bags, no bigger than a child's basket, light enough to hang from their belts, whereas others carry packs that could rival peddler's carts.  Some say every color in the world can be found within these packs, if you knew just how to look; certainly, every shade of green, at the very least. They say that each is worth a king's ransom; but no one steals from a mushishi, no one would ever dare. They say to open a mushishi's pack, without leave by the owner, could render you blind or dead, or worse; and no village could suffer a curse worse than being erased from a mushishi's map._

_(No mushishi would ever refuse to visit or help a village if he or she could, of course, but such rumors had their uses.)_

_Every mushihi pack is different, just as every mushishi is different, yet all packs are, in some way, the same. A compartment or container is always left empty, to symbolize everything and nothing, the potential and the unknown. Every mushishi carries half of an_ uro _cocoon, to make sure they can always be found and never be truly lost; letters of introduction and letters for delivery, to ease their travels and give them direction when they have none; bottles and boxes of every shape and size, for samples and for medicine; ink and pen and paper, for recording their travels and their experiences; and what commoners call 'mushishi tobacco,' to keep the worst of the mushi away._

_And one other thing, hidden in the innermost recesses of every pack. A  small earthen capsule, filled with a liquid that sparkles like sunlight._

 

 

 _Please,_ the letter said. _Our children are dying._

_Please come._

_Please come quickly._

_  
_

In some ways, this village was much like any other. It was an artisan’s village, if one had to be precise, its earthenware and stoneware in great demand throughout the province. Large clay pots of every size, shape, and color could be seen outside each house, fresh from the potters’ wheel or the kiln. Some were plain and undecorated, the distinctive black-red earth of the region shining through the glaze, whereas others were as intricate and as fanciful as a field of flowers. The village was quaint, picturesque, it’s people warm and friendly. Ginko had been quite charmed during his first visit, and the gold and enamel plate they had given to him in payment for his services had practically driven Adashino apoplectic with material lust. But now a pall seemed to hang in air, casting a grey light on everything. Even the air smelled grey, like must and decay and death. This had been a cheerful, bustling village; the last time he'd been here, children had trailed him like flies wherever he went, buzzing with their youth, their questions, and their demands.

_What’s this?_

_Is it true that–-?_

_Have you seen–-?_

_Have you been to-–?_

_Can we see?_

_Tell us a story!_

Ginko did not really like children-–too unpredictable, too brave, too adept at sliding under or piercing through his shields. Unfortunately, children did not seem to notice or share this indifference. No matter how often adults warned against disturbing the _mushishi_ , no matter how stern the admonishments to keep away, they'd come, one by one or in groups, and soon he'd be surrounded by them.

Children were like _mushi_ , in a way, Ginko had once thought.  Though it would take a great deal more than smoke to keep them away.

He last time he'd been to this village they'd flocked around him like flies, meeting him on the road, an army of tiny escorts. Now, the streets were virtually empty, and only one lone child met him at the entrance of the village, or what stood as the entrance of the village.

He knew this child by name, the village chief's son. "Mako-chan," he greeted.

"Ginko-san," Mako greeted. Ginko had never heard him speak so formally before. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course," Ginko said. The last time Ginko had been here, Mako had been a child in truth, barely nine summers old and afraid of nothing. He would be about thirteen now, and he carried his years heavily. Ginko could see the traces there, of worry, of responsibility, of the man he would grow up to be.

"Please come this way. My father is waiting."

Ginko had been to a great many villages, and some of them had even been riddled with sickness, as this village seemed to be, but none had ever been this still, this quiet, as if a fog had settled on the village, erasing all sound. It reminded him of Shirasawa-san’s mountain, which had been troubled by _un_. This village was different, though. In that village, even when the _un_ had been thickest and had eaten every sound, the signs of sound being made, of life being lived, remained evident. He had passed through a village once, after a landslide had devastated it. Even there, he could hear the sounds of struggle, of buried things struggling up towards the light. Here, only eerie silence.

He followed Mako through the solemn streets, passing by empty houses, feeling the sense of foreboding grow. The yards were still filled with pots, he noted, but now they seemed like soldiers, solemn and staid. There was something terribly wrong, he could smell it in the very air. He had come as soon as he could; he hoped he was not too late.

He was brought to the house of the chief, which also served as the main hall of the village. The main room was serving as hospital of sorts, with nearly two dozen children of varying ages being tended by their parents. In one corner, Ginko could even see a few adults in sickbeds. 

“Adults have started getting sick as well,” Mako said, having followed Ginko’s gaze. He pointed to another corner, where a mother and her infant child lay on a cot, while a man–her husband?– held her head up so she could have  a drink of water. “Yuina-chan’s mother fell sick yesterday,” he said. He didn’t have to add anything, every time someone glanced in the direction of the mother and child, he could see the worry. It was a testament of the bond among the villagers, he thought, that they could worry about someone else and someone else’s child when their own children were also at risk.

He followed Mako to the center of the room, to where the hearthfire would have been lit had it been winter. Sanada-san, the chief, was talking with some villagers in hushed whispers, but his face visibly brightened when he saw Ginko. “Ginko-san!” His relief was contagious, instantly mirrored by faces surrounding him. “Thank you for coming so quickly!”

“It’s the _mushishi_ , Ginko-san.”

“Ginko-san!”

“Oh, thank the gods!”

The whispers grew louder, till the hope was deafening to Ginko. The last time he had been here, he had merely uncovered a _mushi_ that had been fermenting the fruit and grain, bought from neighboring villages, that the lone village stable owner had been feeding his horses, making the animals tipsy and uncontrollable. Ginko thought their faith in his ability to help now was unfounded, considering his simple service then. Still, they had asked for help and he would do his best. If the cause of the sickness was a _mushi_ , similar to the last time, then perhaps he would have the cure. If the cause was something more mundane, then perhaps one of the medicinal herbs he carried could help. Ginko wanted to examine the patients right away, but he knew that a history and a timeline would be equally important in diagnosing their condition.

Respectfully, they made room for him so he could sit beside the chief.

“A few weeks ago,” the chief began, “the first of the children began feeling feverish. We had thought it was a simple summer fever, children always have them at this time of year, but they would not respond to our simple cures. More and more of them fell sick. By the week’s end, they had all fallen sick.”

They’d called for physicians, the chief continued to relate, one after another, but none seemed to have any idea of the cause or of a cure. The doctors had questioned the parents of the children, but none reported anything out of the ordinary. They had not eaten any strange plants or fruits, nor had they been bitten by any strange insects or animals. Though small, the village was fairly prosperous due to their craft. No family went hungry here, and the children were healthy, well cared for, and loved. The days had been clear and the nights had been warm. The illness made no sense, all the physicians agreed. They performed their treatments and prescribed their potions, but nothing helped. The children worsened with each passing day. Finally, someone had suggested calling for a _mushishi_ , for Ginko in particular, who had helped them so greatly in the past.

“Oh, but–“ Ginko attempted to protest, but the chief went on to relate everyone in the village had agreed that they had to call for Ginko immediately, that Ginko was their only hope.  

The day after they sent the letter, the first adult had fallen ill.

 

Examining the last sick villager, Ginko was as perplexed as the physicians. He was now fairly sure that the people were suffering from a simple fever, but somehow, their bodies could not seem to fight it off or recover.  It was a puzzle to be sure. The work of the village was very physical, in some ways, and the people of the village had always been strong. This prolonged illness simply made no sense.

“I’m thirsty,” the child he was examining complained.

The child’s mother handed the child a cup of water. Ginko watched as the child gulped it down and demanded more. He looked around the room and the scene was the same, the sick asking for water, gulping water down as if they were dying of thirst.

 

As Ginko examined the water taken from the village well, his confusion rose. The water seemed fine, clean. In fact, it was the cleanest water he had ever seen, at least in terms of particles and organisms. This was the problem, he thought. Something was killing the life in the water itself, draining it of its vitality. It made sense, Ginko thought. This was an artisan village, they weren’t farmers. The land was used for clay, not for growing food. Therefore, in this village, the _ubusuna_ would have been in the water. The children would have been affected first, especially the younger ones. Yuina was still breastfeeding, that’s why her mother had gotten sick, but not her, not yet. It was only a matter of time, though. Once the _ubusana_ in Yuina’s mother’s body were fully depleted, she’d get sick as well.

Chief Sanada and Mako and brought him to the village well for a closer look at the their drinking water source.  Here, too, no _ubusuna_ could be found. He stared at the ground, scratching his head. Finally, he took out one of his cigarettes. As he lit it, he noticed Mako scratching his arm. The movement was slight, at first, then seemed to worsen as the smoke around Ginko’s head became thicker.

“All the children became ill?” he asked the chief.

“Yes.”

“What about Mako?” he questioned. “Mako doesn’t seem sick.”

Chief Sanada shook his head. ”He was the first to become sick,” Chief Sanada corrected, “but he recovered quickly. That’s why we had been so sure that it was a simple fever. We were so sure that the other children would as well.”

“Hmmm.” He looked at Mako speculatively. “Why?”

“Pardon me?” interjected Chief Sanada.

“He’s the only one who recovered,” Ginko repeated. “Why?”

Mako shrugged. “I’m the oldest,” he offered. “The biggest. The other children aren’t as strong as I am.”

“But some of the men who are sick now are bigger and stronger than you. So why did you recover when everybody else has become sick or sicker? What’s different about you?”

Chief Sanada looked confused. “Ginko-san, are you saying my son has something to do with this disease?”

“Oh, no, Chief Sanada,” Ginko was quick to reassure him. “But clearly, there is something very special about your son.  I believe he could be helpful in solving this mystery. Would you allow me to examine him?”

 

Ginko prepared the smoke tent. Mako again immediately began to scratch his arm as soon as the tobacco was lit.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” he asked, grabbing Mako’s wrist.

Mako started at his sudden movement, struggling instinctively. “Will you tell my father?” he asked.

“Only if I really need to,” promised Ginko.

Mako seemed to consider the deal for a moment. Then he nodded and pulled his sleeve back, revealing a large scar. It was quite a pale scar, nearly indistinguishable from the rest of his skin. “It was it was a couple of months ago,” he said. “It had been the first warm day. Our parents were having a village meeting--there had been an accident in a village upriver--so some of the other children and I sneaked away to go swimming.”

“And?”

“We didn’t see it at first, but there was this, ummm, like, dark slime on the water?”

“Dark slime?”

“Like ink, only oilier. I was the one who went into the water first. I was fine at first. I was waiting for someone to join me, but the other children started shouting for me to get out of the water. They thought that a giant fish was coming to eat me.” He blushed at that confession, somewhat embarrassed for his friends. “I didn’t know what they were talking about, but then the slime touched my arm.”

“What happened then?”

“I... _hurt_. It felt like my arm was on fire... like it was being eaten. I floundered a bit, went down. It took all of my strength, but I was finally able to make it back to the shore.”

“And?”

“The dark slime seemed to cling to my arm for a while, and it really hurt, and then it just... disappeared.”

"Disappeared?"

“It just seemed to kind of, um, turn transparent and it was gone. And the pain was gone, too, and my arm was fine.”

It wasn’t gone. With the sleeve out of the way, Ginko's _mushishi_ eyes could see _ubusana_ clinging to Mako’s skin, like a shield.

“Could you show me where in the river this was?” Ginko knew the slime would likely be gone--too much time had passed--but surely, he could still find clues of the event that caused the _ubusana_ to dispappear.

At the river, the cause of the silence became apparent. The river was empty of life. There were no fish, no animals, no bugs, not even water plants. Not even dead fish--there was simply nothing. The water was the same as in the well, empty of _ubusana._ Clearly, the animals had all left to seek other drinking holes. The plants had either been eaten by animals, had  died, or had drifted away. And it was all due to this dark slime of which Mako spoke. _  
_

“Do you know what happened to the dark slime?” he asked.

Mako shrugged.

 

Chief Sanada was more informative. He knew exactly what Gino was talking about. “It was some kind of poison, we thought, when our men first spotted it. In the middle of the slime were dead fish, even some dead birds and animals." He fidgetted apologetically. "We only learned this later, you understand. We purchase the paints, dyes, and metals for our work from other villages. There had been a cart coming to our village, filled with these and other materials. Perhaps the merchant was only overzealous, or perhaps he was greedy. Either way, the cart was overloaded. Crossing a bridge, the ox lost its footing, and the cart and its contents fell into the water. Somehow, together, these materials must have resulted in this toxic slime. This happened a few villages upriver, and the villages between sent runners to tell us of what had transpired and to warn us the stay out of the river.”

“What did you do then?” Ginko asked next.

“We had a village meeting to discusss how we should handle the incident," the chielf answered.

This must have been when the children sneaked away, Ginko thought.

"We decided we could not leave it there, where it could poison more animals, perhaps even our children," Chief Sanada continued. "So we took our boats, and we rowed to the middle of the river, to where the dark slime was. We removed as much of it as we could. It was slightly oily and gelatinous, easily caught in our ladles and bowls. We were able to remove nearly all of it.” Chief Sanada announced this proudly.

“And what did you do with the slime?” Ginko asked.

“We decided it would be too dangerous to dispose of it elsewhere, so we sealed the slime in our largest burial jars. We marked the jars with warnings and stored them in our caves. They will be safe there. Our stoneware is the best in the province, they will stay safely sealed for perhaps hundreds of years, if not forever.”

"I see," Ginko said, putting out his cigarette. "And where are these jars now?"

 

It took some convincing, but Chief Sanada finally acceded and brought Ginko to the place wherein they had hidden the jars. He protested again as Ginko broke one of the seals open, cautioning against the danger. Until Ginko showed him the contents of the jar.

Instead of the dark slime the village chief was expecting, the jar contained water, clear and sparkling, like a potful of diamonds.

“It was a special kind of _mushi_ ," Ginko explained, "a type of _ubusana_ that live in water, predominantly in rivers. Unlike other _ubusana_ that live in the ground, this type of _mushi_ follows the river, keeping it safe and clean. When that cart fell into the river, all the _ubusana_ in the river must have conglomerated to contain the poison that you spoke of. As they absorbed the poisons, they turned dark and viscous. But that was only until they could convert the poison into something safe. There must have been so much poison in the water, to attract so many _ubusana_ , and to make them that dark.  When Mako’s arm came in contact with the poison, the _ubusana_ attached themselves to his arm as well, to fight the poison. Mako might have died then and there, but the _ubusana_ saved him.” He gestured  to the jars. “When you tried to contain the poison in the river, you sealed up the _ubusana_ as well. _Ubusana_ help people grow strong and healthy. Without it, the people grew weak and could not fight off a simple fever. That's also why Mako recovered from the fever so quickly. He still has some _ubusana to_ fight the fever. Yuina must also still have some from her mother's milk, which is why she hasn't gotten sick.”

Chief Sanada looked simultanesouly relieved and stricken. “We were only trying to save the river,” he said, “and to protect our children. We didn’t know.”

Ginko smiled, kindly. “Fortunately, I think we caught it in time. You need to bring some of this water back to your village for your people to drink and to put in your well. The rest, you need to put back into the river. Your people and the river should recover, given time.

Chief Sanada bowed in gratitude. "You have saved us again, Ginko-san. How will we ever repay you?"

Ginko's smile grew wider. "Oh, I think I have an idea."

 

 

 

_Every mushihi pack is different, just as every mushishi is different. Yet, in some ways, they are all the same. In every mushishi pack, hidden in its innermost recesses, is a small earthen capsule, filled with a liquid that sparkles like sunlight._

_Once upon a time, the mushishi carried many of these vials. They carried these vials of precious liquid from town to town, from province to province, and from river to river. And this is why, dear child, minstrels once sang of the beauty of our forests, the majesty of our mountains, and the serenity of our rivers._

_But the time of the mushishi is long past, my child._

_And the task now falls to you.  
_

 

_  
_

 

The End


End file.
